Gossamer Blush

The dawn of October
stains my palms
how the nicotine stains your teeth.

The cinnamon leaves
storm about
raking your dusty lashes, like stalks of fruit.

Ocher crumbs and cocoa seeds
besmirch the damp soil,
clumsily.

You are defined with:
pulpy cider hues
my slow, chemical solstice.

A cornflower symphony
hummed by the trees, bare and trembling,
the fruitful pining of their inner bark,
the napalm that lines my pumpkin patch.

I squint at the flaxen sun
that drips golden beyond my shoulder,
where the sinuous maple tree, gnarled branches and all
will breathe your name.

Your body is a coal mine
me, an irrelevant dilettante
I cannot winnow you out like the flame of a match
or peel you from my sole.

Reviews

[The Nude Writer]

Hehe.. I think I made a mistake reading this while tired. Not sure I catch your meaning, but it seems to be very deep. If you have napalm in your pumpkin patch, you might have trouble selling your pumpkins this year. Would you mind giving me a clue what your thoughts were in writing this? I feel I want to understand :)